I realized that I might be a late bloomer—a little late, naturally. I love hearing about proteges: the five-year-old drummer or the sixteen-year-old activist. I love hearing the nine-year-old who sings like an old soul and reading about the 14-year-old who just completed a master’s degree. I marvel at all these amazing accomplishments. I am impressed with the laser-like focus of these children and teenagers that enables them to change the world in awe-inspiring ways. I was never one of them. I showed no promise on any musical instrument. I didn’t learn to read when I was especially young. I struggled with math,